


The Bucket List

by VCCV



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Off Screen Minor Character Death, school shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: A typical morning at McKinley turns deadly.





	The Bucket List

"I am the mother of your child, Puck. That makes you responsible for providing for my needs." Quinn shot a sideways glare at him.

"Your needs?" Puck snorted. "Since when is bacon a need?"

"Since I started craving it two weeks ago," Quinn snapped back. "I've had morning sickness for this child. I've turned into a whale. My back hurts. My feet hurt. And I have to pee every five minutes. Is it really so much to ask for you to get me some damn bacon?"

Puck held his hands up defensively. "Okay! Okay, you'll get your bacon. But you are gonna explain to my mom why you're causing our daughter to sin by contaminating your baby-making parts."

Quinn rolled her eyes and hefted her books up to rest on her very pregnant belly. Loud laughter came from behind her and she glanced back, ready to murder with her eyes the next bastard who laughed at her waddling. What she saw wasn't people making fun of her, but rather a group of boys huddled around a figure near the dumpster. To the best of her knowledge, there was only one person who could cause that much amusement from jerks tossing him into the dumpster. 

She grabbed Puck's sleeve and jerked him to a halt. "It's Kurt," she said, urgently, tugging Puck around to see. "Go make them stop."

But Puck was already on the move. "Hey!" he yelled, breaking into a jog. "Get your goddamn hands off him!"

The jocks—from the baseball team Puck thought—hesitated for a moment. Puck could almost see them counting their numbers and dividing the damage coming their way between them. They made the intelligent choice, of course, and dropped Kurt. He stumbled for a moment, trying to regain his footing after his midair suspension. Just as soon as he got it, the jocks took turns shouldering him aside as they sauntered off as quickly as they could manage while retaining their coolness factor. 

Kurt angrily jerked his clothing back into place, rolling his eyes at the final slurs they tossed. Puck slowed to a walk and watched in amusement as Kurt wrestled with his manbag and his backpack. By the time he'd gotten it under control, Quinn had caught up to them. She fussed over the wrinkles in Kurt's shirt, muttering under her breath as she smoothed them out. 

Kurt smiled at her and covered her hands with his. "Thank you, Quinn. I'm okay." He leaned forward and gave her a hug, then linked arms and turned for the school. Puck stared openmouthed.

"Uh, hey! You do know I'm the reason those assholes took off, right?" Kurt and Quinn looked back at him and rolled their eyes in sync. 

"Yes, Puck," Quinn answered, her tone placating. "We know your big, bad guns scared the morons off. Thank you for being a studmuffin." She and Kurt giggled behind their hands and continued on. 

Puck huffed and kicked at a random rock. "'Thank you for being a studmuffin,' he mimicked in falsetto. "Whatever." He shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged after the two, head down so they couldn't see him making faces should they happen to turn around.

He told himself that was the reason he was so slow to react when he heard what sounded like a car backfiring. His head came up, and he was just beginning to look around for the smoking tailpipe when the screams started. Another backfire sounded. He stared in morbid amazement as one of the jocks just who'd been bothering Kurt stumbled and dropped to the ground as though he were a puppet with cut strings. He landed right next to his prone teammate.

It didn't click until Puck saw a small river of red running out from under the downed boy. Shit. He looked around frantically, trying to spot Quinn and Kurt through the rush of screaming, running students. He caught a glimpse of long, blonde hair and bolted toward it. 

Kurt was practically dragging a sobbing Quinn, his bags and her books long since dropped. He spotted Puck and his eyes widened in relief. He forced Quinn a few more feet, and then shoved her at Puck. Puck snatched her up and dove to the ground behind the dumpster they'd just come from.

Kurt was a half a second behind, but that was a half a second too late. Another gunshot cut through the screams and Puck could only watch in horror as Kurt jerked, losing his footing and face planting into the asphalt just shy of the dumpster's safety. 

Quinn shrieked, reaching for Kurt, but Puck shoved her back onto her ass. He snagged Kurt's outflung arms and dragged him forward, heaving Kurt into his lap then reaching out to pull his legs in as well. Quinn scrambled back up onto her knees and, still sobbing near hysterically, fluttered her hands around Kurt's midsection, where a red stain was slowly growing. Puck wanted badly to flutter his hands—and maybe scream and cry as well. However, he knew that now, beyond everything else, this was the time to man up and take charge of the situation. He just wished he knew how to do that. 

Another crack and there was a metallic ping on the other side of the dumpster, right above their heads. Quinn flinched and screamed again. Puck glanced down at Kurt. Only his head was visible beneath the golden curtain of Quinn's hair as she tried to shield him. 

Kurt was pale, so very pale, and already starting to sweat. Puck wondered if Kurt was even aware he was making tiny whimpers with every breath he took, because it was breaking Puck to hear it. Kurt's lips were a bloodless slash across his face, and tears seeped out of the corners of his eyes, rolling down his temples and into his ears. Puck hated when tears ran into his ears. 

He shifted, putting his back against the dumpster, and gently maneuvered Kurt upright. That process displaced Quinn from Kurt's chest, so she dropped down next to Puck and curled over the top of Kurt's body. Kurt whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, his face a mask of pain. A tiny rivulet of blood from his bottom lip joined the tears dripping off his chin.

"Kurt." Quinn's voice broke. "Oh my God, Kurt." Kurt peered up at her through tear-clumped lashes and tried to paste on a smile. Not only did it come off as absolutely fake, Puck thought, but it looked really wrong for his lips to curve upward as the blood ran downward. Quinn opened her mouth to say more, but a bellowing voice cut her off.

"This is a revolution! We've been pushed around for too long, and I'm not going to take it anymore!" Puck's eyes widened as he recognized the voice, and he peered around the corner of the dumpster. On the roof of the gym stood Jacob Ben Israel, currently holding a megaphone in one hand and a dull, black handgun in the other. 

"You know who you are. Abusers. Tormenters. Bullies. Jocks. Cheerleaders. You perfect people with your perfect faces and perfect lives. Throwing us in the trash. Hauling us up a flagpole by our underwear. Slushing us. Calling us names. Pushing us into lockers. The list goes on and on, you bastards! You've pushed me into a corner for years, and today you pay for every asshole thing you've ever done!"

Puck turned back around. "It's—"

"Jacob. Yeah, got that." Kurt's voice sounded strained, and he'd started to pant. Quinn pulled his shirt open, gingerly touching the bloodied fabric. A bloody furrow the width of one of her fingers ran from back to front about three inches above Kurt's waistband. Blood coated his side and his pants were soaked. It looked goddamn awful to Puck's untrained eye.

He tried to remember every cop show he'd ever watched. There wasn't an entry or an exit hole, just the bloody groove. He was pretty sure that meant the bullet clipped Kurt, but wasn't stuck in him. And that was good. Wasn't it? Fuck.

Quinn unwound Kurt's scarf from his neck and wadded it up, pushing it against the wound in an effort to staunch the bleeding. Kurt actually screamed at that, his whole body tensed, and he thrashed weakly, trying to move away from the pressure. Puck held him in place easily, but winced at the resulting heartbreaking sobs.

"I know it hurts," Quinn whispered, her hands not pausing in their task. "I'm so sorry, Kurt. I know. But I have to stop the bleeding. I'm so, so sorry." Eventually, he stopped thrashing and lay limply in her arms. She wiped her face on the shoulders of her dress, trying to dry her tears. 

"It…it's okay…Quinn." Kurt's voice was strained, but his eyes were open and he was trying to smile reassuringly again. "I know."

Quinn glanced over at Puck and narrowed her eyes. "Take your shirt off," she demanded. Puck blinked in confusion, but did as she asked. "Now fold it up and we'll put it over the scarf."

"Scarf?" Kurt lifted his head a fraction of an inch. "Quinn Fabray…tell me you didn't…didn't use my brand new…Gucci scarf as a...bandage."

"Yes, I did." She looked fiercely down at him. "Not one more word about it."

Kurt's fake smile took on some warmth. "Bitch."

Quinn smiled back, her chin only trembling a little. "Diva."

"You know it. Ah! Fucking hell!" he cried out again as Quinn took the shirt from Puck and pressed it over the scarf.

Quinn let out a slightly insane giggle. "You just said fuck," she pointed out.

He tried to raise an eyebrow and wheezed a laugh. "So did you." 

They fell silent again, listening to Jacob's continued rants, punctuated with gunfire and screams. Kurt grew paler and his panting increased. With her free hand, Quinn stroked his sweat-soaked hair, pulling back the little pieces that had escaped. Puck thought that under normal circumstances, Kurt would bitch a blue streak about mussing up his perfect hair. Puck had never expected a time would come that he'd want Kurt Hummel to pitch a fit.

"You're doing so well, Kurt," Quinn said softly. "It'll be okay. You'll be fine."

Kurt opened his eyes and smiled back. "I know," he returned, but the pain-crinkled skin at the corners of his eye belied his expression. "I have to be okay. I haven't even got around…to making a bucket list…much less checking things off it." 

Tears stinging her eyes again, Quinn tried to distract Kurt. "What does Kurt Hummel's bucket list look like?" She gave a watery smile.

Kurt chuckled, and then grasped his side as his face lost all color for a moment. When he pried his eyes back open, the tears were pooling again. "I've always wanted…to see my name on Broadway," he said, returning to the shallow panting. "I want to see…the spring line of…Dolce & Gabanna." Two tears raced one another down his cheeks. Quinn bit her lip and gently wiped them both away. He pushed his face into her hand, gratefully. "I wouldn't have been averse…to having a boyfriend either," he continued. "Or getting…my first kiss. Hell, I'd settle for…a first date." 

Quinn's eyes widened. "You've never…?"

"Done any of those things? No. McKinley isn't exactly…the Castro District." He chuckled again but then flinched as another gunshot went off. The movement caused Kurt to bury his face in Quinn's side for long moments, letting her grasp frantically at his shoulders.

"It's okay, Quinn," he reassured her, his voice muffled by her dress. "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to die."

"How do you know that?" she whispered tearfully.

"I hurt way too much. Aren't you supposed to go numb right before?" he complained, lifting his face once again. Quinn's chin quivered and she rubbed her thumb over Kurt's forehead. He closed his eyes again and tried to lay still, fighting not to wince as every breath jarred the gunshot wound. His panting slowed and he gained a little color back into his face, but the sweating increased. 

Kurt opened his eyes again, and blinked a few times before focusing on Puck. "You're awfully quiet," he murmured. 

Puck cocked his head, and a frown briefly appeared between his brows. He mulishly set his jaw and then leaned forward. Kurt's eyes grew wider the closer Puck got, but Puck wasn't stopping. He moved in to press his lips softly to Kurt's. The chaste kiss was over in a moment, but Puck's lips tingled as he moved away. Kurt looked a bit glassy-eyed himself. Puck really hoped it was from the kiss and not the shock. Quinn sat motionless under Kurt's head; even the calming stroking of his hair came to a halt.

"Why did you do that?" Kurt whispered. 

Puck's intense stare broke as he shrugged and looked down at his hands. "I wanted to," he answered, huskily. "Been wanting to for a while now. I was just…scared, I guess." He shrugged again and looked up. "So, when we get out of this, you wanna go out with me? I promise I'll even take you somewhere you like." He smiled hopefully. "I don't have a whole lot of money; been saving it for the baby." He tilted his head towards Quinn. "But I can guarantee it won't be McDonald's or anything."

Kurt looked painfully confused. "Is this some nice gesture…to help the dying, gay kid fill his bucket list?"

Puck frowned. "I don't do nice gestures. And you're not going to die," he added, angrily. "Stop talking like that."

"So, why, then?" 

Puck looked incredulous. "Seriously?"

Kurt pushed himself up, forgetting momentarily that he shouldn't do that ."Yes, seriously! Did your—" He cut off as his agitated movements aggravated the wound. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed heavily against the pain. Then, he started again. "Did your life flash…before your eyes?" he finished, rather snippily.

Puck crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. "Yeah, it did, actually."

Kurt paused, squinting up at him, looking for the truth. "And you suddenly realized…your burning love for me? That you couldn't live without me?"

Puck shook his head sharply. "I didn't say that." Kurt snorted, wincing again, and Puck glared at him. "I don't know, okay? I don't know how I feel about you. But, Jesus, that insane fucker could have just killed you! You're lying here bleeding everywhere! And I didn't want you to… I couldn't stand if it you…I just needed to kiss you, okay?"

He ran his hand over his shaved head, and then dragged his hand down over his face. "I needed you to…to know, I guess. That I…" He waved his hand vaguely. "Maybe we're just friend material. Maybe we're more. I don't know. I guess it just took the idea of you…" Another vague wave to Kurt's still seeping side. "To realize I wanted to find out. To realize how chicken shit I was being."

Kurt stared at him, wide-eyed again. Then he started to laugh. He clutched his side and moaned, curling over it. Quinn stroked his hair and glared at Puck.

"What's so funny, sweetie?"

"Oh, God," Kurt laughed tearfully. "It took getting shot…to get a kiss and a date. Will I have to die to get laid?"

"Shut up!" Puck growled. "You're not dying. We'll get you out of here." 

Kurt chuckled weakly, emotionally and physically exhausted. "Okay, Puck. Yes. You get us out of here alive…and I'll go out with you. Fuck, I may even put out for you…if you can do it without…getting me shot again."

Puck grabbed Kurt's face firmly and forced him to look at him. "I'm not joking, Hummel," he said fiercely, his gaze piercing.

Kurt hesitated, his pained eyes searching Puck's face, trying to read his expression. "Yeah," he finally whispered. "Yeah, okay."

Puck watched him for a moment longer, and then turned Kurt's chin loose. He leaned forward to quickly peck Kurt on the lips again and ran a finger over Kurt's damp cheek. "I'm going to distract him," he said, turning his gaze on Quinn. "You and Kurt wait for it, then run like hell around the side of the gym," he jerked his head in that direction, the opposite of the sniper.

Kurt frowned and tried to sit up. He yelped and fell back down. "No! That is a stupid plan!" He glared daggers at Puck as he slowly pushed himself up again. "He has a gun, Puck! He can shoot faster than I can run. Even without this stupid bullet hole in me. And Quinn is pregnant. She's not running any faster than I am!" 

Puck thought getting pissy might have been the best pain management all along for Kurt. His voice was still high and tight, but the panting had given way slower shallow breaths. He shook his head and smiled fondly down at Kurt. "Stop analyzing it. Just do it, Hummel." With that, he crouched at the side of the dumpster, eyeing the rooftop where the whack-job was still shooting off random rounds.

"Puck! No!" Kurt ignored the burning in his side, reaching out to grab at Puck's jacket. He launched himself out from behind the dumpster before Kurt could grab on.

"Hey! Fuckwad! Over here!" Puck shouted, waving an arm in case the geek hadn't noticed him. The ping of a bullet next to him reassured that he had indeed been noticed. He ungracefully threw himself sideways, and then continued forward. He had almost made it to shelter behind the gym stairs when he heard another shot and liquid fire exploded in his shoulder. He cried out pitched forward, suddenly unsure where the ground was. Helpfully, it reached up and grabbed him, pulling him face first into it.

The red-hot pain was impossible to breathe through, so he didn't try. He held his breath as he tried to push himself up and crawl away; his arm wouldn't support him. Pain overwhelmed his every minute movement. He had no idea how Kurt was even conscious, much less holding an intelligent conversation.   
Rather than pulling him in, now the ground began rushing away from him. He curled his fingers feebly into the asphalt, trying to halt the darkness, wondering if the darkness might not be the better option if Ben Israel were planning on shooting him again. There wasn't another shot, only another explosion of fiery pain as a form collided with him, falling on top of him like a ton of bricks.

"Jacob, stop! Just stop!" Kurt screamed hoarsely as he rolled off of Puck's legs. "Oh, god, I'm going to throw up," he muttered, curling around his side again.

"Kurt!" The megaphone was back. His brain still fuzzy, Puck noticed that Ben Israel didn't seem to be able to shoot and screech at them at the same time. This was good in that he couldn't shoot Kurt; Kurt's ass belonged to Puck for ignoring directions. "Kurt, I'm so sorry. You weren't supposed to get hurt. I'm sorry. Just move, okay? Move off of him and I promise I'll aim better."

Puck glared that direction, but he barely mustered up the will to squinch his eyes, much less fling a scathing retort; that was more Kurt's realm, anyway. He could see Kurt if he angled his chin downward a bit, and really, what harm could a little more dirt do to his road-rashed face? Kurt glared incredulously up to the roof of the gym, to Jacob holding the megaphone to his face and the gun to his chest.

"Are you fucking insane?" he shrieked, regretting it when pain shot through his diaphragm. He dizzily sucked in air as he tried to sit up, bracing himself on Puck's leg. "I am not moving so you can get a better shot at Noah Puckerman!"

"Kurt, he's one of them. They deserve this," Jacob returned.

"They deserve getting shot in the back?"

"They're the enemy, Kurt!" Jacob protested. "You should know; five minutes ago they were throwing you in the dumpster. We have to fight back. We have to stand up for ourselves."

"I'd love to stand up for myself, Jacob," Kurt snapped back. "Or you know, even by myself. But you fucking shot me!"

"I said I wasn't aiming at you, Kurt," he whined.

"And that makes it okay? Because you're sparing the geeks?" Kurt's voice had gone shrill.

"They're a plague, Kurt. A group of genetic failures. I'm doing the world a favor."

"You do not get to play God, Jacob! You do not get to choose who lives and who dies," Kurt shouted.

"Sure I do." Jacob's wild laughter reverberated through the megaphone. "I have the gun." Puck thought the douche had a very valid point, there. He wanted to tell Kurt to stop agitating him so he wouldn't want to use it again. 

Unfortunately, Kurt had hit that tone that told Puck he wasn't backing down. "And that makes you better than them?"

"I am not going to spend my life feeling sick every time I walk by a dumpster, Kurt!" 

"So then, don't!" Kurt shrieked, and then gave a low moan as his enthusiastic response stretched at his side.

"It's not that easy, Kurt," Jacob said reproachfully.

Kurt pushed up to his knees, a death grip on Puck's leg as he fought to keep his balance. "Are you really trying to sell me on how hard it is?" Kurt had moved out of Puck's line of vision, but he had no difficulty imagining the bitchface Kurt must have to match the venom in his voice. 

"There is not a dumpster on McKinley grounds that I'm not intimately familiar with, Jacob. I have washed every single slushie flavor out of my clothes. Until Glee, no one had called me by my actual name since grade school!" 

A sick heat that competed with the burn in his arm wormed its way through Puck's stomach. Until Glee, that had been him. He'd done those things to Kurt. He'd caused tears and pain and anger. Really, Kurt should be parked right at Jacob's side. But instead, Kurt knelt between them, protecting his personal tormentor from a well-deserved fate. He wanted to tell Kurt to move; let Jacob shoot him. If he could just catch his breath—and get out whatever the hell it was in his eyes that made them water like a bitch—he would.

"Why are you trying to stop me, then?" Jacob yelled back. "You know what they are!"

"Of course I know what they are! And I know what I am, Jacob. And I am better than that. Better than them. I don't need their validation to tell me how goddamn fabulous I am!" But he should have it, Puck thought. Someone should tell him every day how amazing he really was; and Puck should die like a dog with Jacob's bullets in him.

Kurt's legs shook unsteadily under him and he crashed back down on his ass. Puck could see him now; red-faced, tear-streaked, pain-wracked; he'd never looked so incredible. He was going downhill quickly, though. The indignant strength that had kept him moving seemed to be fading, and he slumped against Puck's hip. 

"The dumpster is just another place, Jacob. It's not who I am. It's not who you are. But you can't crawl out of the dumpster until you actually believe that you don't belong there."

"I don't believe I belong in the dumpster! I'm not trash!" Jacob screamed.

"Then put the fucking gun down and prove it!" Kurt pleaded. 

Puck turned his eyes back to Jacob who hesitated, visibly deflating. His shoulders sagged, and the gun barrel lowered to point at the ground. "I'm just so tired, Kurt," he whined." I'm tired of fighting just to survive another day here."

Kurt's fingers dug into Puck's side as he haphazardly braced on it and shoved himself upright again. He gripped his own side and let his moan of pain turn into a furious shriek. "Well, then, just lie down and die, Jacob!"

Jacob jerked upright in shock. Puck couldn't blame him. He'd never heard that tone from Kurt before, even through years of bullying and violence.

"Give up fighting and just kill yourself, then!" Kurt roared. "You can do that, but you do not have the right to decide for the rest of us! I don't want to die. I'm not ready to give up. And it pisses me off that I'm kneeling here, bleeding to death, while you try to come to terms with your fucking existential crisis!" His voice broke and Puck could feel his chest heaving against him.

"So, put the goddamn gun down or shoot yourself, Jacob. At this point, I don't really care which. But you'd better make it quick, because if I have to crawl the hell up there to kick your ass, I'm going to be pissed!"

If even thinking about laughing hadn't hurt so badly, Puck would have launched into slightly hysterical giggles. He couldn't get the image out of his head of Kurt as a wet, ruffled and bedraggled kitten, hissing and spitting.

But there was no way Kurt could have followed through on that threat. The fatigue and pain finally overcame the terror and rage, and Kurt slumped down, fully resting on Puck's own limp form.

Puck heard sirens in the distance. They blended with the continued screams and sobbing and Puck thought it sounded like the world was crying. The darkness began seeping into his vision again, and this time he didn't fight it. Kurt's body was warm against him. He hoped it wasn't from the blood, but he didn't have the strength to check.

He inched his hand, the one not connected to the fires of hell in his shoulder, over until he found Kurt. His fingers curled in, grasping desperately and finally hooking onto material. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch the world tunnel closed on him, and he let himself fall.  
______________________________

The beeping woke him. The sanitized smell confused him for a moment, but when he shifted, the explosion of pain in his torso reminded him what had happened. By the time he opened his eyes, he was pretty sure he was in the hospital. What he hadn't been expecting was the small, pale figure asleep in the chair next to him.

Kurt was dressed in a hospital robe and hooked to the IV stand next to his chair. His face was pale, and the delicate skin under his eyes was bruised a dark purple. Puck tried angling himself a bit so he could watch the obviously exhausted boy sleep. Unfortunately, in that direction lay the pit of fire formerly known as his shoulder.

He hissed, gritting his teeth, and tried not to scream. By the time he had the pain under control, he was soaking wet with sweat and felt like he'd just run the bleacher drills in football for two hours straight. He opened his eyes to a worried-looking Kurt.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked, his brows nearly meeting in a deep frown. "I'll get someone. You need some more pain meds."

"Wait!" Puck wasn't expecting his voice to sound like a chain smoker, nor his throat to feel like kitty-Kurt was in there ripping up the place. "Don't leave," he managed before degenerating into a coughing fit.

"Puck, dammit! You're such an idiot sometimes," Kurt muttered over the hacking and whimpering. "I was planning on using the call button." Puck heard some clinking and then the beautiful sound of pouring water. When the coughing finally slowed, Kurt was there, holding a plastic cup to his lips. "Small sips," Kurt ordered.

Glorious wetness touched his tongue and he knew that, had Kurt not been holding the cup, he would have gorged on the whole thing. After a few sips, Kurt took the cup away and Puck slumped back onto the pillows, wanting nothing more than to fall back to sleep. That was when the nurse bustled in.

She waved Kurt away and pulled the curtain. Temperature, blood pressure, lights…all of them faded into a blur when she inserted a key card into the machine next to him and pushed the up arrow. Cool, painless waves began flowing out through his body from the tiny needle embedded in his forearm. He didn't even notice when she clucked over him for the last time and pulled the curtain back open.

He did, however, notice when Kurt came back. He smiled over at the other boy. "Hi," he whispered.

Kurt smiled back wryly. "Hi, yourself. I see you got the good stuff."

"Mmmm" Puck replied, taking a long, slow blink. It was then that he put the pieces together. "You okay?" he asked, peering through the haze of the drugs.

Kurt nodded. "I actually came off a lot better than you, I think. The bullet only grazed my side. The one that hit you fractured your humerus and did a whole lot of big words I couldn't recognize to it." He shook his head. "Layman's terms, though, your arm is broken and you might have some nerve damage."

"But you're okay?" Puck persisted.

Kurt smiled down at him and reached out a hand to wipe a stray pre-painkiller tear from Puck's cheek. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Puck smiled back and let his eyes fall closed. "Good." Then they shot open again."Is Quinny okay?"

"Yes. Yes, she's fine," Kurt reassured him. "She's been chomping at the bit to get in here and rip you a new one for being stupid. For that matter, so have I."

"Pshhhh." He closed his eyes again. "They get that little rat fuck?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess he decided he only wanted to kill other people," Kurt said, bitterly. "He threw his gun down and sat there waiting for the cops. They arrested him for about a billion things. He's not seeing the light of day any time soon."

Puck cracked his eyes again at the wet sound in Kurt's voice. "What?" he demanded.

A tear slipped down Kurt's face and he sniffed, staring beyond Puck to the wall beside him. "He came ready for war. He had a 9mm and three extra clips. He planned on killing ev—" Kurt's voice hitched and he paused to swallow. "He planned on killing everyone who'd ever bullied him." Kurt squeezed his own eyes shut. "He killed four people," he whispered. "He injured six more."

"Who?" Puck returned the whisper, not daring to break the fragile quiet.

Kurt sucked in another breath and opened his eyes. "Roy Mathers. He played baseball, I guess. Tim Evenson f-from football. Sherry Ames. Sh-she…she cheered with m…with us. And Leon Wilkins." 

Puck felt his stomach roll. He knew Mathers by reputation only, but Evenson…Evenson joined the team at the same time as Puck and Finn. He'd actually tried out for Puck's position. They weren't friends, but he was a teammate. And Sherry Ames. Sherry who had long dark hair, perfect B-cup boobs and liked to wear panties with flowers embroidered on them. Sherry who'd been so nervous about stacking up to the other girls Puck had been with. Sherry…who was dead.

Then, he frowned. "Leon Wilkins?" he repeated. "He's in, like Chess Club or something."

Kurt gave a weak, humorless laugh. "Apparently, I was not the only one Jacob accidentally shot."

Puck's blood ran cold. Accidentally shot. Kurt could have been one of those who'd died; all because Ben Israel had a shitty aim. He twitched his hand closer to the edge of the bed. Kurt seemed to understand, taking Puck's hand in his own and linking their fingers. He bent his head, resting his forehead on their twined hands.

"And the injured?" Puck had to know.

Kurt rolled his head in the negative, but didn't lift it. "No. None of ours," he replied. "You, me and Quinn were the only three outside the building."

Puck nodded, even though Kurt couldn't see him. They stayed motionless for long minutes, each gleaning what comfort he could from their contact with each other. The hospital sounds went on around them, hushed voices and beeping machines. Someone coughed in the hallway and Puck heard a faint laugh from the room next door.

"Kurt?" he asked, finally.

"Yeah?" Kurt lifted his head, revealing reddened eyes and tear-streaked features.

"I know this is probably shitty timing," Puck began. "But…I want you to know that I meant it. What I said. About us." He squeezed Kurt's hand and was relieved to feel the returned pressure. "I could have lost you," he said, his voice roughened. "I could have lost you before I even had you, and I…I'd never know what you like on your pizza, or if you like summer or winter better. I'd never meet your dad, and you'd never gang up on me with my sister. I'd never know if you would accept my apology for being such a dick to you, or if you'd ever laugh with me like you do with Mercedes or Tina." He had to stop, his throat tightening to the point of near-choking. 

When he opened his mouth to try to continue, Kurt shushed him softly. "I know," he whispered. "I know you meant it."

Puck shook his head, his eyes stinging. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you. Everything. I don't…I don't want to be that guy anymore. That guy you flinch from. That guy that only touched you to hurt you. I want…I want it to be different. I want to be different."

Kurt lifted Puck's hand to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. "It already is different," he promised. "You're not the same Puck you were, even a week ago. I don't know how this…this nightmare is going to change you. Or me, for that matter. But, I know I'm going to be here, with you, trying to figure it out together."

"Promise?" Puck's throat was so tight, he could only mouth the word, but Kurt just kissed the back of his hand again.

"I promise." Kurt leaned forward, flinching a bit as the movement pulled on his side. He smiled and gently brushed his soft lips over Puck's roughened ones. Pulling back slightly, he bumped their noses together and then eased back into his seat. 

"Now, shut up and get better," he ordered. "We have a date to plan, and Quinn told me to tell you that she still expects her bacon." A smile curled over Puck's lips and he settled back into the pillows, closing his eyes. He settled in, letting himself enjoy feeling Kurt's hand wrapped up in his, the reassuring sound of his breathing. 

As he let the pain meds take him under, he absently wondered how he was going to smuggle a whole package of bacon past his mother.


End file.
